Savannah Heat Read Online Free Page B

looked worse than she had before, except now her face was clean and he could see her smooth complexion, the delicate line of her jaw. Too bad the wench hadn’t inherited her father’s common sense or her mother’s sensitivity, instead of her grandfather’s temper.
    “Take off your clothes,” Morgan commanded when they reached his cabin.
    “What?”
    “I said take off your clothes.”
    “Pinkard isn’t the only one who’s out of his mind.”
    “Do it,” he warned, taking a step in her direction, “or I’ll do it for you.” For the first time since she’d stumbled into his life, Morgan spotted a glimmer of fear. It was just the tiniest flick of an eye, no morethan a heartbeat. Most men wouldn’t have noticed, but Morgan did. It was enough to take the edge off his words.
    “Your clothes need time to dry, and I’m tired of chasing after you. You can have them back in the morning.”
    She eyed him suspiciously but apparently didn’t doubt the threat he had made. “I’ll toss them out as soon as I’m undressed.”
    Morgan nodded. “You can wrap yourself in a blanket before I come back in.”
    Silver’s head snapped up. “What? Why are you coming back in?”
    “Because this is where I sleep. You can sleep in the berth next door.” His mouth curved up in bitter amusement. “I’d planned to give you my berth, but after our little … adventure … I’ve decided against it. When you start behaving, we’ll talk about it again.”
    Silver shrugged as if she couldn’t care less, and Morgan gathered dry clothes for himself and stepped outside. She was an odd one. As hard to figure as any female he’d ever met. She certainly had more spirit. He had never seen such fire in a woman, so much determination.
    One thing was certain: Salena Hardwick-Jones was a beauty. The face of an angel and a body ripe for sin. Thank God his taste ran to the soft-spoken, do-as-you’re-told type of woman, the kind who knew exactly the way things were, or who pleasured a man for the gold in his purse.
    They were easier to deal with and a lot less trouble.
    Morgan smiled to himself. Whatever man she’d run after owed him a debt of gratitude. The poor sonof a bitch would never know how close he had come to a life of misery with Silver Jones.
    “All right, all right,” Silver called out at the pounding on the cabin door. Checking to be sure the blanket fitted her snugly from bosom to foot, she waited for the door to open, then tossed out her clothes.
    “Good evening, milady.” Dressed in a pair of snug brown breeches and a clean white shirt, Morgan Trask stepped into the room and gave her a mocking bow. Behind him, the freckle-faced cabin boy picked up her soggy clothes and walked away.
    Wordlessly the major indicated a tiny door on one side of the cabin. Silver opened it to find a narrow berth along the wall, a sea chest, and a chamber pot.
    “Your quarters, milady,” Morgan said with heavy sarcasm.
    “Don’t let me put you out,” she snapped. Trask didn’t answer, just let her walk past him into the tiny room, then locked the door behind her.
    Silver sank down on the bed. Her spirits were low, but not dead. Tomorrow brought another day and with it new opportunities. As long as they were in port, there was always a chance for escape. Once she gained her freedom, this time she would make it. With that thought in mind, Silver curled up on the bunk and fell into an exhausted sleep.
    Bright yellow rays, peeping through the six-inch porthole, warmed her face and finally awakened her. She stretched and yawned, wrapped the blanket around her, and tried the door. She was surprised to find it unlocked.
    In the major’s cabin she found a tray of food: porridge, a thick slab of ham, a steaming mug of coffee, and several warm buttered biscuits. Beside the traysat a second set of clothes, these more frayed than the last, and a pitcher and basin of water. Silver dressed quickly in case the major returned, then combed her